


Watch That Blonde Hair Swing

by iknowhowyoukiss



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, cs domesticity, cs fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-23
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2019-01-21 17:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12462450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/pseuds/iknowhowyoukiss
Summary: A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life. Or so Emma's heard before.





	Watch That Blonde Hair Swing

**Author's Note:**

> I gave Emma Charming-Swan-Jones a haircut because I could. And also because I still have nightmares about those horrible extensions they made Jen wear her last episode. So here have some Emma Haircut fic with a side of CS Domesticity Xx

_A woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life._

Or so Emma’s heard before. From some beauty influencer or other. Audrey Hepburn, maybe? That doesn’t sound right, though. Miranda Priestley? No, no, she was the uptight, no nonsense boss from that one movie her mother made her watch during one of their girls’ nights. Oh! Coco Chanel? That sounds vaguely familiar, she’ll have to check to be sure but regardless of who said it, she has to admit they were on to something.

She can’t even remember the last time she’s done something this... _drastic_. She’s worn her hair long for as far back as she can remember, only trimming it when needed to maintain its health. It’s definitely a change, she muses, pursing her lips while she contemplates her image in the rearview mirror of the bug for what feels like the millionth time in the last twenty minutes. Her head moves slowly from one side to the other and she feels both the twinges of regret and the excitement of something different, something _new_. It was a rash decision, if she’s going to be honest, a last-minute tack-on to her mental to-do list when she’d gone into town to run a few errands late into the morning.

The salon was just there, across the street from the market, and after tucking the groceries away in the backseat of her car and tracing the outline of scissors on the illuminated sign with her eyes over and over -- her fingers drumming persistently on the top of the door all the while -- she’d finally said, _screw it_ , slammed her door shut, marched straight into the shop, and announced that she’d like a haircut, _thank you very much_.

That was hours ago. It’s nearing twilight now, the sky turning an inky black despite the last rays of light stubbornly clinging to the horizon. The same way she’s been stubbornly hiding out in her car, unable to muster up the energy to unload bags and go inside.

She and Killian had been back in Storybrooke for not even a week when she’d begun to feel this strange sort of restlessness she didn’t quite understand. There was a lot of change happening in her life- well, maybe not _a lot_ , more like _two_ , but huge ones nonetheless. Though, one of them isn’t even all that new. Henry had been gone for years already, but seeing him recently, no matter how brief -- all grown up and fearless and handsome as ever -- brought all the aches of his absence back to the surface.

_I’m your mom. I’m never going to be okay with being apart._

And she’d meant it, but he wasn’t a child anymore, or even the teenager on the cusp of adulthood she’d remembered holding for just a few seconds too long and squeezing just a bit too tight the morning he’d left Storybrooke in search of his own identity and story. He’d been right, of course, as he so often was. He’d had to go and she’d had to let him.

There’s a flutter in her stomach, then, that makes her body jerk, makes her look down and instinctively lay a hand across the ever-growing curve of her belly -- her other massive change. She smiles, an involuntary reflex as she begins soothing her hand back and forth over the little bump and the tiny life growing there.

Her firstborn was off exploring and living his life, just as she was embarking on her own new adventure too, and perhaps those two things combined were what had prompted the desire for some kind of tangible representation of those developments. A new chapter, a new look, so to speak. Not necessarily bad, just different.

Her eyes flicker towards the mirror again and she reaches up to comb her fingertips through the ends of her hair, smoothing down any stray flyaways. She’d cut off ten inches -- ten whole inches -- and it sits just a bit above her shoulders now.

She lets out a very heavy breath at the memory of all that hair laying in a pile on the floor, and alright, maybe a part of her is _a little_ anxious about what her husband will think, though she doubts he’ll have anything overtly opinionated to say on the matter. But she hadn’t mentioned wanting to cut her hair well, _ever_ , really, casually or formally to him, so she can understand any surprise he might have. Plus he’s always seemed to have an affinity for her long locks, if the way his habit of tangling his own fingers in it at every opportunity is anything to go by, but she’s made her choice already, committed to the change.

Now she just has to embrace it.

“Alright, kid,” she murmurs. “Moment of truth. Let’s go see your daddy.”

She still takes her time walking from the gate and up the pathway that leads to the front steps of their porch, though. Her movements are not so much careful as they are quiet, and she shakes her head at her antics when she realizes that she’s even opening the door slowly in an attempt at keeping it from creaking on its hinges, while poking her head through the threshold like some sort of thief sneaking into a stranger’s house.

Killian is nowhere in sight, but that’s not been unusual lately. He spends a lot of his spare time in the room they chose as the nursery now, obsessively sketching floor plans and debating between wallpaper samples and paint chips. The thought tugs at the corners of her lips and makes her heart swell tenfold. He is without a doubt going to be an amazing dad (and if his distraction gives her a few extra moments to herself, that suits her just fine).

She creeps in the rest of the way on her toes, keeping to the rugs she and Killian had painstakingly picked out when they’d returned from their honeymoon and the boards that she knows won’t sound beneath her feet. The door shuts softly behind her as she carefully places the grocery bags down onto the floor. Clearly she’s being completely ridiculous, because there’s no way around the fact that he’s going to see her eventually, no matter how silent she is. But that doesn’t stop her from _quietly_ toeing off her boots and _quietly_ lining them up beside his next to the doorway and _quietly_ removing her jacket to hang on the coatrack.

It’s then that she catches sight of her reflection again, this time in the mirror above the side table, and she steps closer to give herself another once-over. It’s growing on her, she decides. The longer she looks at it, the more she likes it, and-

And then Killian is calling her name, his footsteps echoing through the house. Judging by the path he makes on the floorboards from where he started to where he’s going, he was definitely in the nursery. She freezes in place when he gets to the top of the stairs, wide eyes staring at the staircase through the mirror as her heart speeds up and she begins to chew nervously on her bottom lip.

“Swan?” he says again (and she’ll never get over the way he still won’t stop calling her that even though she’s taken his last name and has had it for many, many years now). “I was wondering when you’d get home. I thought perhaps you’d gone and purchased the entire store,” he chuckles. “I know the gelatin cups have been your sustenance of choice lately, but what do you think about ordering Chinese tonight, does that sound-”

He cuts off mid-question, pausing on the middle landing on his way down as their eyes meet in the mirror. His brows shoot up briefly, surprise morphing into an open curiosity while he takes in her new appearance.

“Hi,” she greets, pressing her lips together and swallowing thickly. Her voice, to her annoyance, sounds like a whisper to her ears.

Killian blinks a few times but doesn’t say anything, merely purses his lips and gives her a thoughtful look as he continues his descent down the stairs.

“Hmm...” he starts, eyes sparkling with mischief as he comes up behind her and slides into her space. “I mean, you certainly have my wife’s face...and her voice.” He reaches up to play with the ends of her shortened hair, his hook falling naturally to its usual place at her hip. “You have all of her curves,” he murmurs, nuzzling affectionately at her and placing his mouth right by her ear. “And her scent.” She feels his fingers curling around a lock of her hair. “But I am almost positive that when she left this morning, she had quite a bit more...hair.”

Emma rolls her eyes at the sharp little tug he gives and when he laughs lightly, she cranes her neck around to look at him. “Well, obviously I’m a big bad that’s come to seduce you and steal you away.”

He hums contemplatively, leaning forward to brush a kiss to the bridge of her nose. “Good luck with that, I’m hardly the seducible type.”

Her brows pinch together in a disbelieving look. “I doubt that’s what your past self would say, or deckhand you from Isaac’s story, or the version of you that’s meandering around the woods with our other kid, or-”

“Now, now, there’s no need to concern ourselves with the details, love,” he interrupts, treating her with a grin. “Besides, you’re the common factor in all of those, so perhaps it’s simply that any version of me is just doomed to fall madly in love with you.” He pauses for a moment, eyes searching her face and trailing along the lines of her new hair. He lowers his voice and bumps their noses together. “Regardless of whatever you choose to do with your hair.”

“So you don’t hate it?” she wonders.

“Of course not,” he replies. “Why would I?” 

She shrugs. “I needed a change,” she tells him on a sigh, and she watches the understanding come into his eyes before he gives her hair a gentler tug.

“That’s alright,” he replies, soothing her as if they were sharing a secret between them. “Change isn’t always a bad thing, even if it’s scary sometimes.”

His arms snake around her middle, hand and hook resting protectively over her stomach as he leans in close and nuzzles at her again, and she has the distinct impression that he’s not just talking about a haircut. Honestly, she’d come to the same conclusion herself earlier, but it’s always nice when her thoughts align with her True Love’s and when he voices what she can’t (or won’t) say aloud.

“And for the record, this new look really does work for me.”

“Oh yeah?” she asks, resting both of her hands over his and the baby. “And why is that?”

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs in agreement. He lowers his head and she feels the soft press of his lips against the curve where her neck and shoulder meet. “Well, for starters, it’s much easier for me to do that.”

It draws a smile from her, probably the way he intended and she can’t help but roll her eyes at him again as she settles into his embrace. “Right.”

“And then of course there’s this,” he continues, moving higher to kiss tenderly at the column of her neck. “And also this.” Another kiss is placed just below her ear before she feels his mouth curve against her skin. “So, yeah. I’d say it absolutely works for me.” 

Emma giggles at him, a soft, loving thing, and she sighs contentedly. “You’re ridiculous. But thank you. It’s growing on me too, I think.”

He tucks his chin against her shoulder, swaying them gently back and forth, and it’s nice, this little moment here with him (and the baby), the three of them standing on the edge of something new and even more wonderful in their already amazing life.

“Killian?”

“Hmm?”

“Can we do Indian food tonight?”

“Korma and naan?” he wonders.

“Garlic naan.”

His sigh is playfully dramatic as he looks towards the grocery bags. “I do hope you bought some mouthwash.”

She wiggles out of his grasp, intending to shove him away but he simply dances out of reach with another laugh. Emma makes to lunge at him, hands and fingers aiming for his most ticklish spots on his ribs but he swats her hands away and pivots around her, leaning down to blow a raspberry to her exposed neck before bounding up the stairs and muttering about where he’d left his talking phone.

Her hand falls to the spot on her neck and she shakes her head at his retreating form, wondering how many more of those she’ll have to endure before her hair grows out again. She turns her head abruptly, feeling her hair toss with the movement and she smiles to herself as she stoops to pick up the bags from the floor.

_Fin_


End file.
